Speak Softly and Carry a Big Grudge

Contrary to what I generally tell people, the happiest moment of my life was not the day I got married, nor the final push when I gave birth to either of my two kids. No, I would have to say that my one moment of sheer bliss was the day I was tailgated relentlessly for five miles on the highway, trapped between a truck in front of me and a truck to my right until I was finally able to change lanes and let the tailgater pass. Yes, I grinned with absolute delight when I caught up with him two miles later and saw him pulled over to the side of the road by a state trooper.

Although I know it is better to forgive and forget, I am just not one of those people who is able to let these things just roll off me. There’s a big chip on my shoulder that usually gets in the way. However, I do realize that I might live a longer, healthier life if I didn’t carry a grudge… or twenty grudges, as the case may be. So this year, I decided for my New Year’s resolution to vary from my usual pledge to lose ten pounds, to a promise to be a less vengeful person.

Therefore, in an effort to get 2012 off on the right foot, I make the following amends:

To the guy I met at the cash machine who told me I’d look more like a lady if I grew my hair longer: I take back the comment I made that bald men shouldn’t throw stones.

To the man behind the counter at the store where I was returning a vacuum cleaner who made me wait twenty minutes while you pretended to read a blank piece of paper and then told me you were going on break, I apologize for telling you to ‘make like a vacuum and suck it.’

To the large lady who screamed at my son when he accidentally bumped into you in the supermarket: I’m sorry I told you he wouldn’t have bumped into you if you didn’t take up the whole aisle.

To the other lady behind me on the supermarket checkout line who looked at the snack food I was buying for my kids and informed me that childhood obesity is the number one problem in America: I’m sorry I told you that actually, people who comment on the food you are buying at the supermarket are the number one problem in America.

To the mother who shrieked at her kids in front of me for no apparent reason: I regret telling you to be nicer to your kids or when they grow up, they will put you in a nursing home.

To the lady at the DMV who was just unbelievably rude to me: I’m sorry for asking you if you also need a license to work there and make everyone’s life a living hell.

And finally, to the girl at the cosmetics counter in the department store who told me I needed six different products for my wrinkles and sagging skin, I apologize for telling you that people who work in department stores have the highest rate of premature aging.